


Old

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Julian spies a handsome prospect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for blueberrycircus’s “Jim Kirk/Julian Bashir” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158362218595/would-you-please-write-something-with-a).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For once, he has no lunch date, thanks to one of Odo’s classified “completely-not-spy-related” missions, and it leaves Julian standing at the edge of the replimat with a lackluster meal. It doesn’t seem worth spending the credits on _real_ food when he’s eating by himself. Of course, sometimes he gets lucky, but the crowd today reveals no half-empty tables full of beautiful women.

There is, however, one almost-empty table with a single man, gorgeous enough for three dabo girls. Julian does a double take as soon as he passes it, and the man—likely a human—is even better upon proper examination. Usually, Julian prefers women—aside from that one strange alien exception that’s always presenting itself—but there’s always room to try new things. The man’s dressed all in black—a simple, long-sleeved shirt and dress pants that could easily be part of a Starfleet uniform. Except that if he were anywhere on the crew roster and therefore in the medical files, Julian would have his face memorized.

A tourist is even better—less room for a mess if things go south. Julian instantly beelines for the table, and the man gets progressively more attractive the closer Julian gets. When he’s right behind the empty seat, the man looks up, catches on the Starfleet uniform, then gives Julian a dazzling smile that nearly makes his heart stop. He’s never seen eyes that blue. With the perfect voice and perfect cadence, the man greets, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Julian returns, automatically slipping into what Garak teasingly calls his ‘flirting voice.’ It’s a force of habit when he’s interested. “Is this seat taken?”

“I suppose it is now,” the man answers, and he must kick it under the table, because it slides right out with a short scraping noise. 

Julian flashes an obliging grin and sinks into it, setting down his tray. In contrast to his healthy—albeit replicated—curry and rice, the man has a greasy looking pizza that couldn’t possibly have come out of a replicator. Reaching over the table with one outstretched hand, Julian starts, “Dr. Julian Bashir. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Jim... Bones,” the man answers with slight hesitation, which Julian chalks up to his own blatancy. Jim gives his hand a firm shake that lets Julian quickly process all the details: how smooth his skin is, how strong his grip feels, how warm his palm is as it slips away. This is definitely a man that Julian could get used to.

But chances are, Jim’s just passing through like all the rest, and Julian asks his standard opener; “Are you here to see the wormhole?”

Jim glances towards the nearest viewport, a casualness in the movement portending of space-faring familiarity but also a subtle flare of interest and fascination at the mention of the wormhole. Sometimes Julian forgets just how _new_ the concept of a stable wormhole really is; he takes the scientific marvel for granted. Jim says in a vague, distant voice, “Something like that.”

Before Julian loses Jim to the stars, he tries, “Where are you from?” When Jim glances back at him, Julian adds around a mouthful of quickly-swallowed curry, “It’s a long way from Earth.”

Jim just says, “Guess,” with his eyes twinkling mysteriously. He goes in for the second-last slice of his pizza. He’s a fun person, Julian can already tell, even though he carries himself like a leader, maybe a commander, despite his obvious youth. 

Jim’s North American accent already betrayed his Earth origins, but a regular person probably wouldn’t catch that subtly so early, so Julian pretends to guess, “A star port, perhaps? You’ve got that shiny and new, modern look about you, so probably not an out of date colony world...”

Jim, for some reason that Julian can’t guess, abruptly bursts into laughter. It’s a sound as perfect as the rest of him, and he shakes his head as he recovers, chortling, “Now _that’s_ ironic,” but he doesn’t say why. 

It doesn’t matter. Julian already knows enough for a passing adventure, and Jim’s only got one slice of pizza left. He picks it up, and the clock is ticking, so Julian skips to the finish line with a smooth, “Well, if you’re going to pass through the wormhole, you’ll want medical clearance. If you want to stop by the infirmary, I could give you a very... pleasant... checkup.” His words are innocent, but he’s sure his eyes say it all; Jim’s staring right into them. And Jim looks wholly interested.

But he still finishes off his pizza, then says, “I’m afraid I’m not fond of checkups... but if I’m still around in an hour or two, it means I’ll have plenty of time for more personal diversions. ...You know, I haven’t gotten a chance to see the crew quarters on this station yet.” He finishes with a wink. A second later, he’s standing up and collecting his tray, but he stays in place long enough to get Julian’s answer.

“In that case, I sincerely hope you’re stuck here for a while.”

Jim laughs, and then he’s walking off, and Julian waits a respectable amount of seconds before turning to look.

Jim’s just as good to watch going as he is coming. He sets his tray into the recycling slot, then turns, right into the company of a Vulcan.

That gives Julian a little jolt—he hadn’t thought any Vulcan ships were docked. Jim and the Vulcan pull up tightly together, clearly talking quietly amongst themselves, and Julian privately hopes he won’t have to test his own genetic superiority against a jealous Vulcan’s natural abilities. 

When he looks back around again, Jim’s seat is no longer empty, and it gives Julian a rude start. Garak smiles slickly at him, then leans forward to coo, “Really, doctor; I leave you alone for two days, and you’ve already replaced me. Have you no shame?”

Julian just rolls his eyes and wonders if this will complicate or enhance his evening plans.


End file.
